Imitating white male swagger can help women understand its durable power and sway. I know, because I tried it.A few years ago, my sociological imagination awoke when watching Friday Night Lights, the once-popular teen drama about football in Texas, in response to the figure of Coach Taylor, a handsome, mostly angry, but putatively good-hearted leader. Coach Taylor and I could not be more different. He is a short-tempered, unilateral man of few words, who doesn’t believe anyone deserves an explanation. As a professor, I explain my decisions, grading, data and assigned readings to a fault. In seminars, I ensure each student is heard, and has a full chance to participate and be part of the scholarly conversation. If students seek my counsel, I follow up with more readings or questions to make sure I have helped them.These are, I understand, gendered behaviours, which I perform with colleagues as well. I make sure junior faculty members get support and attention. I aim for inclusivity, and explain decisions with five-paragraph essays to my chair or in faculty meetings. At the risk of sharing too much information, I behave similarly at home.Imagine then, my puzzlement watching a leader whose monosyllabic brevity accrues such respect. Paper and pen in hand, I observed Coach Taylor, making note of his phrases. In coaching meetings he would end conversations with the sentence, “We’re not going to do that.” He responded to student concerns with “Nope. Not gonna do it” or “You’re better than this!” “Stay away from dumb, gentlemen,” and “Don’t quit.” Actors on the receiving end of Coach Taylor’s missives usually respond quite positively and fall in step with him, appreciating his brick wall approach. At home his utterances appear even more brief: to his wife: “don’t ask me that” or “Damn I love you” and to his daughter, “If you’re wondering if ...
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